


An Agent Is Hard To Handle

by Angel_In_The_Tardis (Aykimra)



Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter RPF
Genre: M/M, Spies & Secret Agents, agency au, spy AU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-12-29
Updated: 2014-12-29
Packaged: 2018-03-04 04:59:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,783
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2953235
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aykimra/pseuds/Angel_In_The_Tardis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Michael is one of the best his agency has to offer, always working alone to get the job done. However, when something happens to go wrong, the higher ups decide that it's time Agent Jones got something he needed a long time ago. A Handler.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. First Meeting

**Author's Note:**

> So I just had this little idea after I saw a post on tumblr. Now that I'm sick in bed, I have time to flesh it out. Please Enjoy!
> 
> Tumblr: double00mogar.tumblr.com

The room was dark when Michael first pulled the door open and walked inside. Before his eyes had time to adjust to the black, he reached out an arm and flicked the switch on the wall. A few overhead lights came on, but what added the most light to the room was a small, closed off section, which was surrounded by a black curtain. Bright white lights blared from their stands, and were pressed up against the wall. It made the whole area seem like it belonged inside a hospital.

    Groaning in disgust, Michael stepped around the curtain and sat on the lone stool that was waiting for him there. On the wall in front of him, a screen flared to life, revealing his own face staring back at him. White targets moved over to his eyes, scanning them, and blinking rapidly before changing to green and disappearing. 

    "Welcome, Agent Jones." Spoke a feminine, robotic voice. Michael elected to not respond, and instead waited in silence for the person on the other end of the connection to appear.

    It only took a minute of that waiting before the screen flashed and Michael's own face was moved to the bottom corner to make room for another one.

    "Jones. Good Afternoon." Greeted the man, nodding his head once. Michael nodded his head in turn, but remained quiet.

    "I'm sure you know why you've been asked to come here?" The man questioned, arching an eyebrow.

    "Yes, Sir. The agency has been trying to find me a handler." He spoke without much emotion, the formalities and conversation already managing to make him bored.

    Handlers were trained separately from field agents, but then they were paired up with one to form a team. They had more experience in controlling things from a distance away, and were better at planning and leading others. People like Michael were better at running, shooting, and all together just taking care of business. They also had a habit of feeling like handlers were unnecessary, and would end up slowing the mission down.

    "Sir, I still don't understand why I need a handler. I haven't had one since I was in training, and that was years ago!" Michael burst out, already forgetting his vow of silence that he had planned to follow before he had walked into the room.

    "Jones." The man on the screen spoke, more authority leaking into his voice than what had previously been there. "We cannot have a repeat of your last mission. Too many mistakes were made. Mistakes that could have been avoided, if you had a handler."

    Michael crossed his arms and frowned like a child who didn't want to stop playing with their toys at bedtime. "The briefing packet had the building's layout wrong! I could have done it if I was given proper information."

    A sigh echoed throughout the room as the other ducked his head down and rubbed his forehead. "And who do you think could have informed you of those incorrect blueprints?"

    "The agency?" Michael spat out, his voice filled with displeasure.

    "Agent Jones!" The man yelled angrily, his voice threatening to crack with the strain put on it. Surprised to have pushed his superior that far within just a few seconds of talking, Michael flinched and pursed his lips.

    "A handler could have told me that the building was different." He mumbled in defeat.

    "That's right. And what would have happened then?" the other responded, his voice back to a normal pitch and volume.

    "I wouldn't have gotten lost, wouldn't have gotten caught, wouldn't have gotten injured, wouldn't have needed backup, and the mission would have been a success." He summarized the failure of a night a quickly as he could, if only to move the conversation along faster. The quicker it was over, the sooner he was out of the room and away from the glare of the older man.

    "Well, as it so happens, the agency has graciously found you a handler as fast as possible. This way, they could have you going on missions again." Michael watched as a clipboard appeared on screen, and the man glanced over it. "I called you here because he is going to be joining in to speak with you before you guys go on a trial run."

    "A trial run?" Michael questioned, cocking his head to the side and squinting his eyes. "Like what the rookies go on before they become agents?" he asked suspiciously.

    A loud chuckle made the audio connection crackle as the other man laughed at the question. "Oh, no. You haven't been demoted or anything." he reassured, watching as Michael relaxed slightly. "We just need to make sure that the both of you work together well before you go on more dangerous missions."

    Michael nodded then, at least happy that a failure hadn't pushed his career back, or forced him to start over. "Well, who is he then?" He asked.

    "Be patient, Agent. He's signing on now to meet you."

    He groaned for the second time since walking into the room, and crossed his arms again, annoyed with having to wait.

    Before he could speak his displeasure again, another connection appeared on the screen. The box was black at first, then came to life to reveal a young man standing there. Michael raised an eyebrow curiously. This man didn't look as professional as most of the handlers he had seen.

    From what he could see, he the guy was lean, and probably also tall. His torso was covered in a simple red shirt, which had a graphic on it that Michael couldn't quite make out. His hair was a dark, sandy mess, and his skin was a tanned shade that was a little bit darker than the field agent's own. Sunglasses obscured the man's eyes, but a large nose was quick to draw his attention away. Michael eventually decided that even though he couldn't see the whole face, the nose suited it well.

     "Agent Jones, say hello to Agent Free. He'll be your handler if the trial goes well."

    Free raised his hand and gave an excited wave as a smile graced his face for a few moments. "Hello." He almost squealed, his voice excited. But, the corner of Michael's mouth pulled down as he realized something else about the voice.

    "You're British?" He asked simply, even though he already could tell based on one word.

    Before he could answer, another voice made itself known, and Michael was almost ashamed he had forgotten his superior was there. "The agency pulled a lot of strings to get Free over to America to work with us. He made quite a name for himself in England, and we're glad to have him here now." He almost looked proud as he spoke, and Michael wondered if he had a hand in the transfer. "On another note," he continued, "I have things to do. You have about ten minutes or less to get to know each other before your mission starts." and with that, his screen went blank and the other agent's face occupied the whole view.

    "Geoff always was one to make an exit." the Brit giggled.

    Michael's face dropped into a state of confusion. "Geoff?" He asked, his voice quiet. Who was this guy, if he knew their superior on a first name basis?

    "Do you not bloody know the man who was just talking to you?" the other man asked, almost like he was shocked.

    "No, I do. He's just always been Agent Ramsey to me." he shrugged, attempting to bring his face back into it's neutral position.

    "So, what's your first name, Agent Jones?" he asked, dropping the previous topic suddenly, like he was bored with it, and Michael could see his eyebrows over the edge of his glasses as he waited for a response.

    "That would be the first fucking question asked." he snapped back, letting his formality drop and his real vocabulary come to light. "Oh well, the name's Michael. And you are?"

    "I'm Gavin." He grinned widely as he spoke. "Nice to meet you Michael!" and the other almost cringed as he heard the British accent alter his name into 'Micool' for the first time.

    "You're so damn excitable. It's just a name." He groaned, rolling his eyes, even though a small smile was tugging at his mouth.

    "But Michael!" Gavin whined, a small pout overtaking his lips. "We're gonna be partners. I need to know your name."

    "Correction;" Michael raised a hand and pointed his finger at the screen as he spoke. "We're gonna be partners if this trial mission doesn't get fucked up."

    Gavin's pout mutated into a frown before he sighed silently. "Alright. I'll try not to be so much of a bother then, Agent Jones." he grumbled, looking off to the side. Michael guessed he was probably trying to avoid looking at his face, even though he was wearing sunglasses.

    "What is that supposed to mean?" He growled defensively. Goddamn, the kid was moody.

    "Look, I already know why they're giving you a bloody handler. I know you screwed up a mission, and even that wasn't your own fault. Michael Jones, this agency's best. I wouldn't want to mess that up for you." Gavin spat the words out like they were poison, and Michael could tell that anger wasn't a usual emotion felt by the Brit. It seeped through him, leaving him feeling cold, and he had only met the guy a few minutes ago.

    "Okay, maybe all that shit is true. But, if they want to give me a fucking handler, I might as well try to make the best of the one I get. Do your worst, Free, because I'll be damned if I have to change to some tightwad shouting orders in my ear."

    Michael watch as the other man's face changed into a large grin, flowing with new found happiness. Yup, he was too excitable and way too moody.

    "So, what's behind the sunglasses?" he asked waggling his eyebrows in a jokingly sexual manner as he tried to keep the conversation flowing.

    "Eyes." he replied quickly, but when Michael rolled his own in an over exaggerated way and groaned, he continued with a better answer. "I wear them because of my identity. I've still just transferred from a whole different service, so they're for protection, mostly."

    Michael nodded, fascinated with just the little bit of information he received about his new partner. He wasn't quite sure why, though. Slower than what was preferred, he realized that he had been staring, as Gavin was now looking back at him with a sly smirk on his lips.

    The Brit chuckled, and Michael was knocked out of his trance. "They're green. Maybe some hazel in there too." Gavin stated, answering an unspoken question. Michael looked away from the man then, his cheeks burning into a gentle shade of pink.

    "Yeah, whatever." he mumbled, still averting his gaze until his face decided to cool off.

    "Thirty seconds remaining on connection." suddenly chimed the same feminine voice that had welcomed Michael when he first walked into the room, causing them both to jump, although one would be less willing to admit it than the other.

    "Looks like Geoff wasn't joking when he said we only have a few minutes to talk." Gavin said, letting his smirk fall into a more neutral expression. "I guess I'll see you on the other side, Michael."

    "Yeah, yeah, I hear you, Free." he grumbled, finally looking back at the other's face. "Don't fuck this up."

    "I guess I'll try." the handler said in a whining voice, although Michael could tell that it was fake. How was it that he could already do that?

    "Oh, and good luck, Agent Jones." he said, lifting up a hand to wave.

    "Good luck, Agent Free." and with that, the screen went black, and Gavin was gone from Michael's sight.


	2. Trial Run; Start!

  Michael stretched his arms up over his head and arched his back, letting out a small moan before relaxing back in a sitting position. He sat silently for a few seconds, thinking over what had just happened to him.

     He had met Gavin Free, a surprisingly very British handler, whom his own agency considered one of England's best, and had convinced to come over to America to work for them. Now, he was going to be partnering with him, hearing that accented voice telling him what to do, and what was happening through an earpiece.

     Last time Michael had a handler was when he first joined up to become an agent and he was still in training. It was policy to practice listening to a handler's instructions, as most field agents received one directly after their promotion into duty. Michael did not. And he had long been fine without one. But now, one mistake had thrown him backwards. No longer was he the Agent Jones who survived the most dangerous missions without help. No, now he was the Agent Jones that almost died because he didn't know what the building looked like.

     Is that why the gave him Free to work with? Because he had fucked up so greatly that only the apparently best handler could make sure it didn't happen again. Or, were they paired up because they were two great agents, and only the best could handle one another?

    Michael wanted to be pissed at his superiors. Normally, a bunch of unanswered questions would send him off the edge into a fit of rage. But this time, it wasn't his confusion about his position that upset him. It was the mystery that surrounded his new partner that made his fists clench and his face red.

    What did he do in England when he worked for someone else? What was his life like before being an Agent? the question that confused him the most though, was what color really sat behind the dark glasses? And that, is what pissed Michael off.

    He was angry that he already had so many questions that he wanted to ask Gavin. He was angry that he somehow already cared about the British idiot. and, he was angry that he could already tell when he was joking about something or not.

    He was so angry that he threw himself up and out out of the chair and pulled his clenched fist back and rammed it into the wall where the screen once was. He didn't punch hard enough to put a hole into the surface, but there was now a dented area.

     Sighing, Michael relaxed his body. There was no point in getting mad at himself anyway. It didn't help anything.

     He turned around and faced the exit door. He had spent too long in the room, and being late to his practice run with Gavin wouldn't help his situation either. He moved forward quickly and twisted the door know, taking a step out into the bland, white hallway, closing the door behind him. He walked to the left passing doors on both sides of himself before reaching another twist in the hall. This time he went to the right. After a few doors down this hallway, he reached a pair of black double doors. He stepped through them and was greeted by rows of lockers. It was almost as bad as high school.

     Michael walked all the way to the back of the larger room to the last row of lockers. Already there, was another man. He was shorter than Michael himself, and generally scrawnier, but he knew better than to just trust looks.

     "Hey, Brownman." Michael spoke in greeting, clapping the other's back twice before turning to open his own locker.

     "Yo, Jones. Going out somewhere?" He asked, pulling up a skin-tight black bodysuit, that was standard for most spy missions, over his shoulders and zipping it up. He threw a pair of glasses over his eyes, then slammed the locker shut, turning so he could face Michael.

     "I got a trial run to get to." he answered quickly, removing the majority of his clothing and pulling his own bodysuit out of the locker. As he began to pull it on, he looked at the other man out of the corner of his eye. "What about you Ray? Got a mission?"

     "Only the best of the best for Brownman. You know how I roll." He joked as he opened the locker again and pulled out a pink sniper rifle. "Joel told me HQ has a target they want me to take out."

     Joel was Ray's handler, and they had gotten along well over the few years they had been paired together. There was a decent age gap between the two, but that only meant that Joel's years of experience could easily keep up with Ray's raw, unmatched talent, especially when guns were involved.

     "Trial run, you said?" Ray asked suddenly after a few seconds of silence. "Did you get a handler?"

     "Yeah, they got me some British idiot who transferred over here not too long ago. Said he was the best over there. Name's Agent Free." He murmured as he zipped up the black outfit, and rolled his body around as he tried to get comfortable in the material.

     "You saying that because you're you, or is he really some sort of idiot?" Ray asked curiously.

     Michael thought about it for a second, and stopped as a mysterious smirk somehow found it's way onto his face. "Both."

     Ray nodded, silence sinking back into the almost empty room as they both checked through their lockers, guns, and other equipment. The last piece ray donned was a small, black earpiece. "Joel, can you hear me?" Michael listened to him ask.

     There was no sound that Michael could hear from the other end, but when Ray smiled and nodded, he knew that the older man had responded. "I'll be ready in a second." The younger agent replied before looking back at his friend.

     "His real name? Do you know it?"

     Michael narrowed his eyes and scrunched up his face at the oddly direct question. It wasn't an unusual question to ask, but it threw him off for a second. "Uh, Gavin. Gavin Free." he responded quickly as possible, attaching a handgun to his right hip, then a knife to his lower left thigh to avoid looking at the other man.

     "Gavin, huh? Well, I'll have to meet him sometime. Joel will too, if he hasn't already. Who knows what the hell the handlers do all the time." Ray talked as he walked past Michael, but stopped as he reached the end of the lockers. "Gotta run, Good luck Jones." then, he moved out of sight.

     "You too, Brownman." he called right before he heard the large door open, then shut.

     Michael remained quiet as he finished up in the locker room. He didn't have a earpiece to put on yet, so he shut his locker properly, then followed Ray's tracks out the doors and down the hallway.

     His destination was on the other end of the building, so he moved his feet quickly, trying to get there as fast as possible without running. His talk with Ray had put him behind schedule a little bit farther, and being on time was pretty important in his line of work. He didn't think he would be too late though.

     He pushed his way through another set of double doors, these ones a bit heavier than the last. He came face to face with one Agent Ramsey, whose arms were crossed as he waited.

     "You were almost late. Got here just in damn time." he grumbled, before turning around and gesturing with his arm that Michael should follow him.

     The agent complied and they walked across the concrete floor of the very large garage, eventually stopping at a large, black jeep. "Welcome to your ride for today. Here's your earpiece. Better check and make sure your partner is ready."

     Michael nodded slowly and reached out a hand. Geoff dropped the small piece of equipment into the Agent's open palm. Michael rolled it between two fingers for a few moments before placing it into his right ear, making sure it was secure. "Gavin, uh, you ready to get started?" he asked, and hoped he didn't sound somewhat nervous. There was no reason for him to be.

     The line remained silent for a while, but then there was an already familiar voice speaking directly to him. "Oh, yup. I'm ready Michael." Gavin assured.

     "There is a way to turn the line off, but I wouldn't recommend it. You only wear the piece during missions, anyway, so there's no reason it should be off." Their superior noted. 

     Michael nodded, just paying enough attention that he gathered the main idea of what he was being told. "Where am I going?" he asked, opening the door to the driver's side, stepping in, and turning the key that was already waiting for him.

     "Well, it's not really my responsibility to tell you that anymore, is it? This is an exercise for you and Gavin. Rely on him for shit like that." Agent Ramsey spoke, slamming the car door shut as he did so. "Good luck." And then, he walked away.

     Michael sighed, pressing his foot down on the gas and pulling out of the garage. "Alright, Gavin. Let's get this shit started. Where am I going?"

     "Do you normally take missions this far out? I mean, you're going right to the edge of Texas for this." Gavin rambled quickly, and Michael had to listen closer than usual to catch it.

     "Yes, we go all over the country. Can I have some fucking directions please?"

     "Alright, hold on. Uh, you're going up past Amarillo to Dalhart. Got that?" Gavin asked.

     "Yeah, I can get there." Michael nodded his head, even though nobody was there to see him do it.

     "So Michael, what do you wanna talk about during your drive?" Gavin asked, a small laugh at the end.

     "I don't wanna talk about shit, Gavin." the agent replied, rolling his eyes as he turned the wheel.

     "But Michael! I'm on this mission too. I've got nothing to do while you drive." Gavin complained.

     He sighed, wondering silently if his handler's ramblings would make the drive seem longer, rather than shorter. "Fine, pick a topic, dickhead." he caved. He was weak.

     There was silence on the other head, during which Michael assumed Gavin was trying to think of something. "What if," he began, "Your legs didn't know they were legs."

     "What the fuck does that even mean?" he almost yelled. Yes, the ride was going to be a long one. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, not beta'd. Feel free to point out typos, politely! 
> 
> Tumblr: double00mogar.tumblr.com

**Author's Note:**

> The first chapter of what will probably be quite a lot. Please tell me if you find any mistakes, as this isn't beta'd.


End file.
